Chapter 11. Over

While Kate worked, Jack sat at a booth in the corner of the diner, sifting through the contents of the box.

She'd written to him all the way through high school, unloading her thoughts on him like a kind of diary. She never mentioned Wayne, or the abuse, just like he knew she wouldn't, even if he'd seen her every day; she just talked about what she was doing, movies she'd seen, plans she was making, vowing at the end of each letter to come visit him soon. In hindsight, he knew she wasn't serious, but he couldn't help wondering if she'd written it anyway because it had given her hope, even after he'd stopped writing himself.

Every so often, the grown up Kate would bring him coffee, smiling as she read the words she'd written to him over his shoulder. She didn't comment on them though, letting the letters speak for themselves.

As he read, Jack could see her sitting at the desk in her old childhood room, ignoring Wayne's shouts as she told him about the story competition she'd won, or the new sport she'd taken up, or the horse she'd befriended in the paddock at the end of her street. Some of them, she told him, she'd written from their meeting place by the road, watching the cars go by without him.

She never mentioned any friends, he couldn't help noticing with a pang, not even James. She'd never been Miss Popularity, preferring her own company when she couldn't have his, but it still saddened him to think of her alone through one of the most traumatic periods of her life.

He'd almost reached the bottom of the box, those first tear-stained letters where her handwriting was fervid and loopy, the pen ripping the paper in places where she'd pressed too hard during a fit of emotion, when he heard the door slam, angry footsteps making their way past the counter, towards his booth.

Jack looked up to see James barrelling towards him, his eyes flashing with unadulterated hatred. "Should have known I'd find you here," he said. "Get up." He snatched hold of Jack's collar, pulling him out of the booth.

Bewildered, Jack stood. He didn't have to wonder what this was about for long though, before James added, "You don't get enough pretty nurses at that hospital of yours? You've gotta screw my girlfriend too?"

When Jack opened his mouth to protest, James cut him off, snarling, "You think I don't know whose roof she was shaking up under last night?" He tightened his grip on Jack's shirt, cutting off his air. "How'd you do it? You play the hero, sew her back up, and suddenly she can't keep her hands off you? Or did you just make her some big promise, like you did when we were kids, about how you were going to get her out of here?"

Jack was having trouble breathing now, his body going lax in James's hands. Taking advantage of his weakened state, James pulled him up again, shoving him against the side of the booth. "She was fine before you came riding into town on that big white horse of yours."

"Oh, she was fine, was she?" Jack countered, recovering his composure. "Is that why she needed nine stitches last night?" He pushed the other man off of him, slamming him into one of the tables behind him, his whole body quivering with the urge to pin him there and hit him. More than once, preferably.

The whole diner was watching the now, Kate's face whiter than the letters she'd given him, the letters that were now scattered all over the floor. "What are you doing, James?" she cried, dropping the plate she was holding as she ran over to them. "Nothing happened."

"Oh, nothing happened," James repeated, mimicking her. "After twenty years, you finally get him alone in a room and you just talked? I may not have gone to college like hero here—" He eyed Jack with malice, daring him to throw the first punch "—but even I ain't that stupid."

Before Kate had another chance to tell him that that was exactly what had happened, he added, "I bet you think about him even when you're screwing me. How the hell else did I ever get a look in?"

Jack lost the tenuous grip he had on himself then. He heard Kate screaming for him to stop, felt the crunch of cartilage, but he couldn't seem to rein his fist in. It was only when he saw the blood on James's face that he was able to come to his senses again, letting him fall back onto the table as his hands came up to rub his forehead.

"Didn't think you had it in you," James croaked as he stumbled to his feet, wiping his bloody nose on his sleeve. "I gotta admit, I'm a little impressed."

Jack ignored him, turning to make sure Kate was okay. She looked shaken, but she didn't hate him, giving him a little nod to let him know that she understood. James had definitely deserved it that time, as good as calling her a whore, when, from what she'd said, he wasn't exactly faithful himself.

She took a deep breath, looking to him for strength, before she stepped forward, wringing her hands nervously. "I may not want to marry you, James," she said, meeting his eyes, "but I've never given you any reason to doubt me. I've never slept around, or kissed another man—" She looked quickly at Jack, apparently grateful that he'd kept her from making this a lie "—Not while we've been together. You can think what you want about last night, but nothing happened. We didn't even sleep in the same bed."

Jack couldn't help noticing the look James gave him, as if to say, "faggot". He tried not to take it personally, knowing that he'd had more respect for Kate than to try something on her when she'd come to him looking the way she did last night. He wasn't an animal. Not like some people.

If she saw it, Kate didn't acknowledge this silent exchange, her voice growing in confidence as she thought, Jack was pretty sure, of all the lying and cheating and abuse her boyfriend had put her through since high school. "If you can't trust me after all these years, then that's it. It's over."